Days on the street: 1
Fans sold: 0
Ladies and Gentlemen -
It is legit one balls hundred degrees hot outside, and I have returned home from my first attempt with all 10 fans that I left the house with and about 1500 stares.
So many problems -
1 - the shirt. I thought the shirt was going to be a selling point to the fans. Guess what? The shirt was the God Damn star. It's like if Marcel, who was supposed to make Ross quirky, ended up getting ALL of the laughs and then becoming the sixth friend, and goodbye Ross, and years from now people would be like "which one was Ross again?" and someone would say "he was Marcel's owner." And then they'd nod and say the word "right" twice in a row. Almost everyone I walked by read the shirt - and - mind you - it's not even the real shirt! It's literally a Hanes undershirt with "I'LL SELL YOU MY FAN" written on it in Sharpie. The real one hasn't arrived yet. And hopefully it never does.
2 - the price. it's ok to dream. it's not ok to dream and be an idiot. Laying in bed at night, I'd think - as soon as my fans come, I'll sell them and have some cash. I'll sell them for 3 bucks each. That's reasonable.
I can't wait for these fans to come. 3 times 100. that's 300. minus the $150 it cost me to get this operation going. That leaves $150. Hmm... Well 4 times 100. That's $400. So yeah - it's really hot out - you know what - i'll sell them for 4 dollars each and be able to buy myself some groceries with this money. that's good.
...and so 15 times 100 is - Holy shit! I'm going to be rich!
I walked into the CHASE bank to get my 2 20s turned into 8 5s and the woman behind the desk looked at my shirt, then looked at the fan in my hand and said "So? How much is it?"
The she made a face that can only be described as a poop break up face. The face you'd make if someone broke up with you mid poop push.
I had to say something:
"It's only not worth it to you because you're in here all day and you have air conditioning." I said.
I turned around and in line there was a nice man - a bit disheveled. Just getting by. Going for that grungy look. And he was holding out a clean crisp five dollar bill to me.
I panicked. And then I smiled.
"Do you want one?"
"Do you want a fan?"
"NO! I NEED AN AIR CONDITIONER ON MY BACK!"
"I nodded and looked away."
"103 DEGREES! IT'S A PIZZA OVEN!"
I should note that I'm typing the syllables closest to the sounds he made.
I had to disassociate. If I was the man with the sharpie shirt talking to the man who happens to be waving money and yelling pizza oven over and over, I knew I'd get grouped into the crazy list and no one would by a fan from me.
Well that might just be what happened. He wouldn't leave me alone. I did my best not to entertain him, but it was a lost cause. I opened the gate. He wasn't a 50 year old hipster - he was just a CRAZY man.
So I walked out of the bank and took the subway to the gym cause I had to get this god damn shirt off.
I got the the gym. The woman who scanned me in instead of saying "hello" just read my shirt out loud to me.
"I'll sell you my fan."
"Do you want one?" I asked. I lifted up my hand to show her my fan - thinking I was about to make my millions.
"Ha! No! But I like your shirt. It's hot."
Yes, I know it's hot. That's why I thought everyone would want a fan.
3. Attention. I forgot that I hate attention. Not in a weird way like when someone looks at me I cry. But close. 4 years of acting school has made me detest when people do things specifically for attention. And even though I know that I'M not wearing that shirt and selling fans for ATTENTION, it sure as hell feels that way when everyone's a-starin'.
4. I have an uninviting face.
So tomorrow I've got a new game plan. Cross your fingers. Pictures to come.